


Circling the Wagons

by TariSilmarwen



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Found Family, Gen, Protectiveness, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 02, Space Dad Kanan Jarrus, some creepy OCs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21640723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TariSilmarwen/pseuds/TariSilmarwen
Summary: "Why is it whenever I get in a tight pinch, you all rush to the rescue?" Ezra complained. Sabine reached over, mussing up his hair affectionately. "'cause you're the baby, Ezra, and we have to protect you."Or, the crew of the Ghost can be a little protective of their youngest member sometimes.
Relationships: Ezra Bridger & C1-10P | Chopper, Ezra Bridger & Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios, Ezra Bridger & Hera Syndulla, Ezra Bridger & Kanan Jarrus, Ezra Bridger & Sabine Wren, Ezra Bridger & The Ghost Crew
Comments: 51
Kudos: 347





	1. Newest Addition

**Author's Note:**

> Me being a complete sucker for the "found families/badass crews protecting their youngest/most vulnerable members" trope, it was only a matter of time before a Rebels version squeezed out of me.
> 
> Each chapter (excluding this one and the last one) will focus on a different character. Most of these are set early Season One, though a couple will creep into Season Two.
> 
> Enjoy, dear readers!

Blaster fire pinged over Kanan's head as he yelled into the comlink. "Spectre 2, I need an ETA on that pickup!" he said, firing back at the Stormtroopers.

_"Less than a minute, Spectre 1,"_ Hera replied. _"I'm almost on top of you."_

Indeed, above the din of battle and the rattling and clacking beneath their feet, Kanan could hear a familiar distant whine growing ever-louder. He turned and planted his feet a moment to steady his aim, letting Zeb and Sabine pass by him, both firing into the squadron of troopers pursuing them.

_"Approaching your coordinates,"_ came Hera's voice again. _"I can set down on the field."_

"Scratch that," Kanan said. "We're mobile. You're gonna have to match speed and scoop us up."

By "mobile", Kanan meant "currently running along the top of a hover train". Hera would want to hear the story later. Right now, they had to focus on getting their crew to safety.

It was time to pull out his lightsaber.

Both parts came off his belt and clipped together neatly, the blade igniting with a hiss. A few of the Stormtroopers gave a pause, as they always did whenever Kanan revealed himself as a Jedi, but they quickly got over their hesitation and resumed their charge. Kanan deflected blaster bolts back at them, felling at least two with direct hits.

Another trooper seized up, yellow electricity arcing through his body, and dropped to his knees stunned. Two others had to grab hold of him so he didn't slide off the train.

Kanan glanced over at the one responsible for the stun pellet, the newest addition to their crew, Ezra Bridger. The teen was furiously loading and reloading his energy slingshot, yanking back the crackling strings with a practiced ease.

He was so focused he was backing up dangerously close to the gap between the next car and theirs. Kanan touched his shoulder gently to call his attention to it, his hand on the kid's back as Ezra turned and leapt over the empty space.

"Kanan, we're running out of train!" the boy said worriedly, resuming position and once again laying into the pursuing troopers with his slingshot.

"Hera's incoming!" Kanan yelled. "Keep going!"

Sabine ahead of them fired at a trooper that was getting too close, then caught sight of something in her helmet's sharpened vision. "More bad news!" she called out. "Look!"

She pointed. Coming alongside the train was an Imperial ground transport, bursting with Stormtroopers, led by a gray-clad ISB agent in a familiar helmet.

"Oh _wonderful,"_ Zeb growled, voice dripping with sarcasm, gripping his bo-rifle's hilt tighter. "Agent _Kallus_ is here."

"That's just what we needed," Kanan groaned.

With just a quick glance at each other and without needing to say anything, the two older men moved to close ranks and block the troopers' light of sight to the younger Spectres, Zeb very deliberately stepping in front of Ezra. The Lasat squeezed his rifle and didn't even wait for Kallus to disembark from the ground transport before firing in his direction. No way he was letting that blasted Imperial get his hands on the kid this time.

A shadow fell across their heads. They glanced up briefly to see the Ghost dropping towards them, moving up to hover above the last front two cars of the train and hold there, the ramp lowering and light spilling out from the cargo bay.

"Ride's here!" Sabine chirped with a grin, stowing her blasters and making a run for it.

She hopped up on the ramp, followed by Ezra and Zeb. Kanan waited a moment after them, deflecting a couple last shots as he backed up, then jumped up onto the ramp himself. Blaster bolts followed on his heels. Ezra lingered on the ramp, covering his retreat, while Sabine waited just inside the door, ready to hit the button to close it up behind him.

The warning in the Force had Kanan whipping around, almost in tandem with Sabine's shout of, "Look out!"

Blaster bolts sprayed across the ramp, pinging into the cargo hold, all around their heads.

One sparked right under Ezra's feet, upsetting his footing.

He teetered off the edge of the ramp with a yelp, falling clean off.

"Ezra!" Kanan and Sabine yelled almost at the same time.

"Kid!" Zeb cried a split-second later.

A palpable panic seized them. Kanan and Zeb both rushed to the end of the ramp to look down, while Sabine stepped away from the controls, yanking out one of her blasters and shooting fervently into the crowd of advancing troopers atop the train.

Fortunately Ezra had hit the top of the last car and not gone rolling off. Not-so-fortunately he was dazed from the landing, and the Stormtroopers were almost on him.

"Hera, stay put! Don't peel off yet!" Kanan shouted into the comlink. Zeb had already jumped down at once, and Kanan was right after him, lightsaber raised and spinning, a blur of motion.

_"Kanan?"_ came Hera's voice, anxious, full of worry. _"What happened? What's going on?"_

"Ezra's down," Kanan explained, Force-pushing a trooper that had made it to Ezra—and was starting to drag him up by the arm—backwards, breaking his hold and making him stumble. Zeb and Sabine finished the job moments later, Zeb smacking an arm into the man's chest to knock him aside and Sabine's shots putting him down between the cars.

Zeb made it to Ezra's side as Kanan ran up to guard them, helping the boy up.

"I'm okay..." Ezra groaned, rubbing his head.

"Hurry!" Sabine called down to them, frantically. Kallus was closing in, pushing through the midst of his troopers towards Kanan.

Zeb didn't hesitate, physically lifting Ezra onto the _Ghost_ 's ramp and pushing the boy ahead of him. Kanan glanced back over his shoulder to make sure they were both safely inside, before gathering the Force to himself and letting it explode, pushing the advancing troopers hard.

They yelled and flailed as they went flying, crashing into each other. Kallus was knocked back into a knot of his own men and wound up dangling off the side of a car, clinging to a handhold for dear life.

Kanan shouted for Hera to take off and leapt onto the ramp, making it into the hold in three bounds. Sabine punched the door control before he was even fully inside, and it sealed up behind them, the _Ghost_ roaring away triumphantly.

For several moments after their escape, though, the room seemed to hold its breath.

Ezra rubbed down his arm, brushing unseen dirt away and looking slightly uncomfortable. "Not that I don't appreciate the save," he said, "but I could've totally handled that."

Zeb grinned, holstering his bo rifle in its spot on his back. "Sure, kid," he said, humoring him.

Ezra caught the underlying sarcasm and made a face, about to insist very strongly that yes he could have gotten himself out of the situation, but was interrupted from that by Kanan, who took him by the shoulders.

"Are you hurt?" Kanan asked.

"No," Ezra replied, simmering down a little.

He felt Sabine's hand ghosting by his shoulder. "You sure?" she pressed him. "You took a pretty hard tumble back there." Her tone was playful but there was an anxious light behind her eyes.

The teen turned his head, flushing slightly. "Maybe a few bruises from when I landed," he admitted.

"Let me see," Kanan decided, reaching for Ezra's arm.

Ezra shrugged him off. "It's nothing, Kanan, really. You don't have to fuss over me."

Kanan pursed his lips with reluctance, but after looking Ezra over with his eyes one last time reassured himself that the boy wasn't hurt, and backed off.

Ezra was about to breathe a sigh of relief—honestly, everyone always _hovered_ so damn close whenever anything remotely bad happened to him—but then they heard the hiss and snap of a door opening and a flutter at the upper railing.

"Are you all right?" came the sound of Hera's voice, worried and full of motherly concern. She'd slid down the ladder and appeared at his side within seconds, touching his face and shoulders, checking him over. "Chopper said you fell off the ramp. Is anything broken?"

The teen bit back an exhale of exasperation, keenly aware of Sabine and Zeb holding in muffled laughter behind him.

"I'm _fine_ , Hera," he said. Again with the fussing. He didn't get it. He really didn't. "Nothing's broken. I barely even got bruised. I promise." He stepped back, batting away her hands. "Really, why is everyone making such a big deal out of it?" he grumbled.

"Ya fell onto a moving hover train, kid," Zeb piped up, shifting a cargo crate slightly so he could lean back onto it, folding his powerful arms. "That could've ended very badly."

"Kanan falls off things all the time and no one bats an eyelash," Ezra pointed out. "Sabine almost got caught in one of her own _explosions_ last week and all you guys did was scold her and tell her to be more careful next time. Why is it whenever I get in a tight pinch, you all rush to the rescue?" he complained, crossing his arms with a glower.

Sabine reached over, mussing up his hair affectionately. "'cause you're the baby, Ezra, and we have to protect you," she cooed.

Ezra mumbled something under his breath, looking at the floor in awkward embarrassment.

Hera smiled gently and pushed a strand of Ezra's hair away from his face. "We just want to make sure you're okay, Ezra," she told him. She didn't voice her other thought—that maybe the crew all still felt a little bit guilty for leaving him behind at the beginning. "You haven't been with us very long so you're not as experienced at this kind of thing as we are."

At that, he lifted up his face and grinned. "Hey, I've been running away from Stormtroopers since I was seven. I think I do okay."

Unvoiced tension seemed to ease out of the atmosphere. Kanan felt his posture relaxing, and stepped over to take Hera by the waist and guide her towards the door. "All right, enough chit chat. If you're sure you're okay, I'll see you up in the turret for some target practice."

Ezra lit up excitedly, trotting after the two like a kid on the heels of his parents. "So when do I get to learn that neat Force trick you used back there?" he asked eagerly.

_"Patience."_


	2. Zeb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First up, our resident Lasat. Enjoy!

Lasats were not known for being a particularly amiable species—not to outsiders anyway. They kept to themselves and generally minded their own affairs, even before the near-total destruction of their species. But one thing remained constant despite their dwindled numbers and lost homeworld; they were vicious defenders of their households.

It was a surprise to no one that soon after joining up with Hera and Kanan, Zeb had begun to consider the _Ghost_ "his" home turf, Hera and Kanan and even the irate Chopper "his" new clan. The notion had only grown stronger with the addition of Sabine, a precocious human kit that Zeb took an immediate shine to, despite his normal dislike of children. It helped that Sabine was intensely brilliant beyond her years, and had come from the Mandalores, who understood a thing or two about the honor and glory of combat, the vicarious thrill that came from bashing heads.

It had tripled with their taking on Ezra, despite how immeasurably _irritating_ the little human kit could be.

He was like an overgrown Lasat toddler, always underfoot, getting into everything, wild and unruly. Kits like him had caused endless headaches for Zeb when he was still part of the Honor Guard—hard to guard anything when you had to pull a screaming child away from somewhere he wasn't supposed to be and deposit him back with his parents.

Despite that, there was a certain look to him, a softness in his face and wide round eyes, an innocence behind the rough-edged bravado the kid put on, that reminded Zeb of a day-old downy newborn, fur not yet fully grown in, grasping with tiny paws for its mother to hold him.

Begrudgingly he found it just a little bit... endearing.

Not that he'd tell the kid that.

"Hey! Keep up!" he barked back over his shoulder at the boy. Erza started from his thoughts, peeling his eyes reluctantly from where they'd been wandering, looking with nervous interest at their surroundings. Zeb waited for Ezra to make a few trotting steps to rejoin him, then faced forward again with a grunt. "Don't want ya getting lost," he said. As they continued forward he added under his breath, "Hera'd kill me."

"Who could lose _you_ in a crowd?" he heard the teen remark dryly.

His fur prickled with annoyance, but Zeb shrugged it off. He was here to do his job, not pick fights with Ezra. Hera really would kill him if anything happened to their youngest Spectre. Especially since he'd promised her that he'd watch out for the kid on this mission.

It wasn't anything that dangerous—Zeb would meet their undercover informant at a certain booth in a certain bar, gather some intel about the unusual movements of Imperial starships around Corellia they'd heard about, and then head straight back to the Ghost. It was a one man mission, really, one Zeb could easily carry out all on his own, but a very bored and fidgety Ezra—stir-crazy from being cooped up on the ship for so long—had _insisted_ upon coming along.

Though he was probably regretting that now, Zeb thought, if his nervous glances around at the murky-lit bar and its seedy denizens were any indication.

Zeb couldn't blame him. The Specters were no stranger to the shady underground holes where the scum of the galaxy gathered, but this place seemed seedier than most, with broken glass littering the tables and dingy dim yellow lighting casting odd shadows over the many myriad hulking forms patronizing the place. There were many scarred and twisted faces, some with glowing eyes that glared out from the shade like burning embers at them. Dark, well-worn clothing abounded. Ezra in his bright orange jumpsuit looked small and very out of place.

Subconsciously, the boy hovered at Zeb's elbow, sticking close to his wake. "Not exactly a friendly crowd," he said, observing a heated sabaac game taking place in one of the far corners. A Klatoonian was yelling, gesturing with angry motions at his partner. It sounded like he was accusing his opponent of cheating.

Ezra flinched as, with a lazy motion, the bored-looking Devaronian pulled a blade and jabbed it into the Klatoonian's gut. There was a wet slicing sound and something that looked like blood sprayed across the table. The Klatoonian slumped in his seat, gargling and sliding off neatly to the floor and disappearing behind the many pairs of feet. No one near the table seemed to take any heed or notice, going about their normal business. The Devaronian merely pulled his drink closer and took a long sip from the glass.

Frowning, Zeb reached back and grabbed Ezra's left shoulder, pulling him closer. The teen's expression seemed to telegraph exactly what he was thinking:

_Yikes._

"Stick close," Zeb growled. He took a wary look around, scanning the room for their contact. "Don't let anyone step on ya," he warned.

For once, Ezra had no smart reply, nodding mutely with a small, "Right." and following close on Zeb's heels.

They made their way towards the back left, towards a booth against the wall that had a clear view of the bar. Zeb tipped a brief salute to the booth's single occupant, a slightly hunched figure in a weather-beaten hooded cape, the hood pulled down low to shade his eyes. He was human, Corellian if Zeb had to guess, with grizzled features and dark hair, traces of stubble on his chin and keen ice blue eyes. He kept his cloak pulled tight around him as if shielding unwanted eyes from a glimpse of the clothes underneath—Zeb caught flashes of the low-rank gray Imperial uniform nonetheless, despite his caution. He was just thankful the poor lighting helped hide it.

"Tarran. Always a pleasure," he greeted briefly.

The undercover informant nodded once, in acknowledgement. "Zeb," he replied.

"Long time no see eh?" joked Zeb. "Nice to see th' Imperials haven't caught onto ya yet."

The man huffed briefly into his glass. "Not for lack of trying, let me tell you." He jerked his chin towards Ezra. "Who's the kid?" he asked.

Zeb smirked with some affection as he thumbed a finger at Ezra. "Tagalong. Picked him up on our latest mission. Kanan and Hera decided to keep him around."

"Well he's drawing too much attention," came the blunt statement, accompanied by a dismissive wave at the boy.

Zeb was faintly stunned a moment by the pronouncement, turning to look at the teen. Ezra was frowning as if he wanted to protest, but was thinking better of it, his eyes scanning the room behind them. Zeb looked as well, and his face puckered, unease settling into his chest. It was true, there were a lot of eyes on Ezra, a lot of looks being sent his way. And not all of them innocently curious.

Instinct rumbled inside Zeb's chest, prickling with a discontent growl. His wary eyes met Ezra's.

Ezra put on a nonchalant smile and shrugged. "It's okay, Zeb. I'll just find somewhere else to sit," he said, gesturing over his shoulder.

Now Zeb had to hold himself back from protesting. Ezra alone, in a smuggler's den like this? Hera would not approve. Zeb could already hear her lecture about leaving the boy unattended in his ears. He bit his lip uncertainly.

Ezra seemed confident. And it wouldn't be much longer than a few minutes or so.

His gut feelings didn't like it, but they _did_ need to avoid attracting unwanted attention.

Zeb sighed heavily. "All right. But stay where I can see ya," he said. He poked a finger into Ezra's face. "And don't go pickin' any fights, ya hear?" he warned the boy sternly.

Ezra grinned. "Zeb, come on," he assured the Lasat, rolling his shoulders casually. "Who'd want to pick a fight with me?" he asked.

The Lasat restrained himself from making a snarky comment, as Ezra slipped off, maneuvering quietly through the crowd in search of another seat. He turned back to his business, sliding with some effort into the seat opposite Tarran.

"So what's the news?" he asked anxiously, keeping his voice just above a whisper.

Tarran scooted forward in his seat, sliding a holodisk across the table towards Zeb. "Cruisers," he said. "Big ones. Been in orbit around Selonia for three months now. Shuttles coming and going from them all the time."

"Down to the planet?" Zeb guessed.

"Where else?" the man shrugged.

Zeb scanned around to make sure there were no listening ears, and leaned in closer, resting his forearms on the table. "What d'ya think they want?" he whispered.

"My guess?" Tarran shrugged. "They're in some kind of negotiations about using Corellia's shipyards to start making new additions to the Imperial starfleet."

"What kind of new additions?" Zeb glanced out the corner of his eye as he spoke, gaze circling the room, looking for Ezra. He had a brief moment of panic when he couldn't spot the boy right away.

_Karabast! Where did he—?_

Oh, wait. There he was. Leaning his elbows and back up against the bar, very casually. Trying to look like he belonged there.

Zeb's fluttering nerves relaxed again. He kept one eye on Ezra and his ears attuned to Tarran.

"Not clear yet," the informant was saying. "All our C.O.s'll say is that they've got a new prototype battle cruiser that's going to be rolling off the line soon. Had some of my men check out the blueprints. Looks legit." Tarran lowered his voice again. "But I think there's something bigger they're also working on that they're trying to keep hushed up."

"Mmn," Zeb grunted, starting to tune out. Some instinct, some finely-honed danger sense inside him, was drawing his eyes towards the bar, where Ezra was.

Nothing was overtly wrong yet... but Zeb didn't like the way that one Duro a ways back was eying Ezra. Like the kid was something he wanted to hunt.

Zeb kept a watch in that direction as he gestured for Tarran to continue. "Any clues what kind of 'bigger' we're talkin' about?"

"I managed to grab some data off one of the pads they were passing around in the conference room. Fragments, really, didn't have time for better, and all heavily encrypted."

That Duro had made his move. And his move was to sidle up to the bar and casually shove Ezra from his place and onto the floor.

"Hey!" Ezra squawked indignantly, eyes flashing with irritation.

Zeb flinched inwardly, sending mental pleas the boy's way.

 _Let it go, kid,_ he thought. _Don't give him any more reason to pick on ya._

"Whatever it is, it carries a lot of TIEs. Almost a starfleet's worth."

Ezra had the good sense to just pick himself up and brush off his arms, stewing silently but not paying the Duro any heed.

The man was determined to antagonize him though, it seemed. His next action was to make a grab for Ezra's backpack.

 _Big_ mistake. Zeb knew just how _touchy_ Ezra was about people messing with his things, such as they were, so he wasn't surprised when the boy whipped around, snapping his arm down to knock away the Duro's hand.

"Don't _touch_ that!" he snapped, glaring furiously.

Now Zeb outwardly flinched, the boy's shout too loud in the crowded space, and just a smidgen too fearful. His hands rapped the table nervously as he glanced back and forth from Tarran—still explaining his discoveries—and the rapidly devolving scene at the bar.

The one Duro had multiplied into three, all very big. The newcomers jeered at Ezra, eyes gleaming with malicious intent. Zeb strained his keen Lasat ears to catch their words under the chatter and din of the bar.

"What's so special about your sack, kid?" one of them was taunting. "What are you hiding in there?"

The anger slowly melted from Ezra's face, as he found himself suddenly boxed in. "Nothing," he muttered.

"Didn't sound like nothing, way he squealed," one of the Duros commented to another. "Don't you think?" he asked, tilting his head with an unsettlingly wide grin.

The first Duro, the ringleader, agreed with a sharp nod. "C'mon kid, whatcha got for us?" he asked, reaching out a hand lazily towards Ezra.

Ezra gave a sharp intake of breath through his teeth as he flinched back, stumbling into the bar behind. His eyes widened with alarm as he realized he was cornered.

The boy's expression brought a flash of memory to Zeb. An image appeared in his head, startlingly clear, of a young kit he'd known—and had to rescue—who'd had the misfortune of stumbling into a large _Kyrash_ nest. The hulking, insect like predator had loomed over the terrified youngster, who was too paralyzed with fear to move.

Exactly like Ezra was now.

An instinctual growl built in Zeb's chest. Long-honed righteous anger flooded him and he could no longer hear what Tarran was saying. He put his hands flat on the table.

"—room for an entire battalion of troopers and—"

"'scuse me a moment," Zeb interrupted, standing up from the table and wheeling towards the bar, leaving Tarran blinking.

Zeb crossed the room in three long strides, just in time to catch Ezra attempting to dodge to the side and the Duro ringleader grabbing him up harshly by the collar, bringing the boy up close to his eyes.

 _"Going somewhere, small fry?"_ he hissed into Ezra's face.

Zeb cleared his throat, loudly.

The Duro's head whipped around in annoyance, which evaporated quickly as he looked up... and up... into the glaring face of the hulking Lasat warrior.

"There a problem here?" Zeb asked, casually crossing his arms over his chest.

The Duro released Ezra, setting him down at once and stepping back in an overly-casual manner.

"No. No problem at all," he dismissed, not looking at the boy.

Zeb shouldered past him, coming around to stand behind Ezra and place his hands on the boy's shoulders protectively.

 _"Good,"_ he growled, hunching over the boy and fixing the trio with an icy glare.

The group shuffled nervously backwards on their feet, cowing under the angry look. Zeb's hands tightened on Ezra's shoulders and he gave the Duros a menacing low snarl. The message was received loud and clear:

_Back off._

With a jerk of his head, the ringleader motioned for his fellows to go, following behind them with the look of a wounded _Kyrash_ denied its prey.

Zeb's eyes glared after them until they disappeared into the crowd, and then he turned Ezra around to face him.

"Y'okay, kid?" he asked, subtly checking him over for any sign of injury.

Ezra, thankfully, seemed to have taken no damage from the episode, physical or otherwise, and was in fact rather offended by the whole scenario.

"What was his _problem?_ " he snapped indignantly. His arms jabbed the air with irritable motions. "I didn't even do anything!"

Zeb gave a satisfied grunt as he let go of Ezra's shoulders. "You're small and vulnerable-looking. That's all a predator like him needs." He nudged the boy, urging him over towards the booth where Tarran sat.

Their informant leaned back in his seat with an amused look, hands still nursing his glass. Zeb glared briefly at him, his hand back on Ezra's shoulder.

"The kid stays here," he emphasized tersely, before pushing Ezra into the booth ahead of him.

Tarran chuckled and held up his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine," he said. "Clearly he's more of a tempting target than I'd thought," he continued, and Ezra made a face at that. Tarran dropped back into business mode, gruffly. "You want the other half of the intel or what?"

Zeb grinned as he wedged himself into the seat beside Ezra. "Well, don't keep us in suspense. Spill."

Tarran straightened. "As I was saying, there's room in just one of these barracks for an entire battalion of troopers and from the looks of it this thing is going to hold several..."

Ezra squirmed uncomfortably in the narrow gap left to him and fidgeted in the corner of the booth almost the whole time Tarran spoke. Zeb didn't mind though. The kid might not be all that comfortable squished against the wall by his hairy Lasat bulk, but he was shielded from unfriendly eyes, well-guarded, and safe.

No one was messing with the kid unless they got through Zeb first.

That was just fine with him.

 _And,_ he thought to himself cheekily, _this way Hera won't have any room to complain._


	3. Hera

"So, you know this guy Dun Raggar well?" a curious Ezra asked as he trailed behind their Twi'lek pilot.

Hera shook her head, making her lekku swish around her back. "Not particularly. He likes to trade through his representatives for the most part. Heard a lot about him though, and from the rumors he's a real scumbag. Gambling, spice-running, gang activity, possible ties to the slave-trade 'business'..." She said the word with obvious distaste, making a face as though something sour was in her mouth. She gave a heavy sigh, heaving the box in her hands a little higher. "Unfortunately he's the only one with the parts we need. So it's either deal with the scumbag or the _Ghost_ goes without a functioning rear repulsorlift for the next few months."

"Ah, so that's what's been wrong with the _Ghost_ this whole time!" Ezra said triumphantly, as if confirming his own long-held suspicions. "I asked Kanan about it, but he wouldn't say anything. Kept trying to blame it on you being more stressed than usual and, I dunno, piloting more erratically as a result."

Hera's eyes gleamed with a mischievous twinkle. "Oh he _did,_ did he?" she teased, already planning subtle ways to confront Kanan about his remark and watch her Jedi companion squirm uncomfortably.

Ezra grinned, toting his own box a bit tighter against his chest. "Guess a busted repulsorlift would make flying pretty difficult huh?" he guessed.

"With the strain it's been putting on the other lifts, we're lucky the _Ghost_ can still get off the ground," Hera drawled. She tried to hide her worry. Her ship—their home—was more than just a vehicle, and if it couldn't keep her and her precious crew out of the Empire's hands...

She glanced aside at Ezra, and tried to banish the unpleasant thoughts from her mind.

They were coming up upon a large, dome-topped building, set just slightly apart from the others. Worktables and shelves full of scrap metal and spare parts lined the walls on either side of the doorway, framed a comfortable-looking patio out front, with pleasant shade under the reddish-brown awnings.

Hera hefted her box of tradeables onto one of the tables with a grunt, scanning around with her eyes for the proprietor. Ezra hovered at her shoulder, peering into the dark doorway as if trying to peel back the shadows.

 _Hmm,_ Hera thought, narrowing her eyes slightly. _No one out front to greet us. Not very polite of him._ Nothing seemed amiss just yet, but she flicked the strap of her hip holster open anyway, leaving it unbuttoned and within easy reach should she have to make a quick draw.

"Hello?" she called after a moment or two of silence and the hot sun beating down on their heads. "Anyone home?"

Ezra fidgeted behind her, shifting the heavy box from one elbow crook to the other. This planet was way too warm for his liking. His collar was itchy and his shirt was sticking uncomfortably to his back. And there was this persistent _smell_ that just permeated all over the place, sour and rotten like the back-end of a—

He jumped out of his skin, yiping as he felt a hand ghost through his hair.

Hera's head snapped around, her tense posture relaxing only slightly at the sight of the spindly pale-tinted humanoid standing there by one of the worktable corners, looking at her youngest Spectre with a keen curiosity.

"What a remarkable color..." the man mused, eyes fixated on Ezra's hair. "Is it natural?" he asked, thick-fingered hand reaching out again.

Ezra took a stumbling step back. "Hera..." he called nervously.

Hera inserted herself between the two, holding up a hand. "Okay mister," she said with a forced smile, trying to calm the twinge of unpleasant churning she felt in her stomach. "You can look, but don't touch."

The humanoid shook himself from his intrigued trance as if it had never happened, lighting up with a sly smile. "Of course, of course," he chuckled, slipping between the gap between two worktables so he could come around to face Hera. "Didn't mean to make you nervous."

 _Too late_ , Hera thought, glancing back as Ezra shuffled closer to her.

The man turned toward the building and barked something in another language at the doorway. From within, there was a loud shuffling and clanging, and then two large, burly Aqualishes exited, one taking up a sentry position to their right and the other dragging a net-full of wares over to one of the shelves, shoving items clear with his arm.

The humanoid angled back to them, used-speeder-salesman grin firmly in place. "Welcome, _welcome_. You _must_ be the lovely captain my men told me about. I am at your service, and my associates," he said, waving a hand at one Aqualish. The oily grin spread wider, cracking the wrinkles in his skin. "What can Dun Raggar do for you today?" he asked.

Hera placed her hands on her hips lightly, relieved to dispense with the formalities and get down to business. "I'm told you can get me repulsorlift parts," she said.

"Mmm, depends," Raggar hedged, scratching his chin. "What do you need and what do you have for me in return?"

Hera slid the slim datapad from her belt and passed it over the table to him. "Here's a list of what I need," she told him. "And this—" She waved Ezra over, and the boy obediently set his box down on the table next to hers. "—is some of what I have to offer."

Dun Raggar leaned forward, rising to his tiptoes so his slight frame could see over the box walls. Hera noted that his eyes lit up with eager greed. He reached in and rummaged around with one hand while he scrolled idly through the datapad.

"Ah yes... nice! _Very_ nice," he exclaimed appreciatively, pulling up one of the sleek black carbine blasters and glancing down the sight. "Oh ho ho, these will fetch a pretty penny they will. Wherever did you even come across them?" he asked with a wink.

She tried not to shudder. "Do we have a deal?" she pressed.

"Mmn." Raggar scrolled through the items on her datapad list with a frown that made Hera worry. The man shook his head, tapping the tip of his finger on one item in particular. "These are tricky. Harder to find these days. I'm afraid even with this lovely haul you've only got enough to cover half the price."

Hera simmered in frustration. It had taken them _months_ to acquire those carbine blasters, working off tips from Vizago and learning the Empire's patterns, tracking down the separate shipments they were being smuggled through. "Are you _serious?_ " she complained, her lekku twitching with irritation. "Those crates are worth two thousand credits!"

The man shrugged. "The market sets the prices, my dear, not me."

"More like you jacked up the prices," she heard Ezra mutter under his breath behind her.

She ran a hand down her face, holding her elbow with the other. "Fine. What else do you want?" she asked, already deciding she wouldn't like the answer.

"Fifty more of these blasters would be nice," Raggar suggested casually.

"Fifty—?!" Hera cut herself off before she could say something... _indecent_ in front of Ezra. The teen was already using coarser language than she preferred. Instead, she just shook her head in disbelief. "You're out of your mind," she told the smuggler.

His eyes flicked down, then up, looking her over in a manner that raised bumps on the back of her arms. "Perhaps..." Raggar mused, "...if you had something _else_ to sell..."

Hera stiffened, her senses on raised alert. Her right hand drifted down towards her holster.

Seeing this Raggar raised up his hands placatingly, breaking into a smile. "Oh I don't mean _you_ of course my dear captain!" he gushed, tone over-friendly. "I'd never presume to be so crude! You are quite the specimen though, if I may say so, be in very high demand despite the overflooded market."

Somehow this failed to flatter Hera, who gnashed her teeth at the words "overflooded market", fuming inwardly at the implications.

Dun Raggar slid his gaze past her, the eerie gleam of intense interest back. "But... your companion..." he said significantly.

The hand inching towards her blaster snapped up again, ramrod straight, shielding Ezra.

"He's not for sale," she said at once.

"He's very... _exotic_ -looking, don't you think?" the man asked, as if he hadn't heard her. He studied Ezra with a look of greedy appraisal, rubbing his chin. "With that hair... I know a Zygerrian who would pay handsomely for him."

Ezra's eyes widened. He glanced anxiously between the two adults. "Hera?" he called, and the timid waver in his voice, like he thought Hera might actually consider it, stirred up a violent fury inside the Twi'lek pilot.

"He's _not_ for sale," she repeated, firmer, glaring at the slaver.

Raggar scoffed. "Come now, how much do you want for him? Ten thousand? Twelve? I'll pay double whatever you think he's worth, and throw in the repulsorlift parts for—"

Hera lunged forward over the worktable, both hands grabbing up fistfuls of Dun Raggar's shirt and yanking the man up to her face, eliciting a yelp. The Aqualish bodyguard twitched and reached for his blaster, only for Ezra to whip around and yank back his energy slingshot in warning.

"Maybe I didn't make myself clear..." Hera growled through her teeth. "Erza. Is. _Family_. There's not a price you could put on him that would _ever_ make me give him up to the likes of you!" Her eyes shot poisonous daggers at him, anger etched in every line of her face. "Am I understood?" she asked icily.

Dun Raggar's face was a neutral mask, implacably stoic as he replied, with unnatural calm, "Perfectly." He motioned slightly with his head and the Aqualish bodyguard stood down with a grumble.

Hera released him in disgust, letting him teeter back to his feet. "I'll take the parts you can give me for what the blasters are worth, and _nothing more_ ," she emphasized. "When you're ready to part with them, you know where to find us." She turned sharply with a jerk of her head, lekku whipping behind her. "Ezra, let's go."

She grabbed hold of his wrist and dragged him along behind her, not even waiting for him to finish putting away his slingshot. Ezra stumbled after her, casting a wary glance back, but Dun Raggar was busy sifting through the crates of carbine blasters, his bodyguards silently at attention, and seemed to take no more obvious interest in them.

The boy gave a shiver of discomfort anyway. Hera was too preoccupied with her indignant thoughts to notice, her only goal to get her youngest Spectre back to the safety of the _Ghost_.

_Of all the—The nerve of that—Sell Ezra, what a ridiculous—_

Even in her own thoughts she was sputtering, furious. She'd dealt with plenty of scumbags in her time, but none of them had had the gall to ask her to partake in slavery. She half wanted to just let the sleezebag _keep_ the carbine blasters _and_ his blasted repulsorlift parts.

She stopped her angry train of thought before it led her to decide something reckless, pausing a moment and collecting herself, inhaling slowly through her nose and teeth.

Ezra was unusually quiet behind her. Hera turned around, fixing him with a concerned look.

"Are you all right?" she asked him.

He was staring at her hand on his wrist, his cheeks hot, bangs shadowing his face. "Did you mean it?" he said, almost too softly for her to hear. He glanced up, bright blue eyes meeting hers, full of emotion. "What you said about... about me being family?"

The look on his face just about broke her heart. He sounded so lost and confused...

Hera pulled gently on his wrist, tugged him closer to her and then let go so she could envelope him in her arms. "Oh _Ezra_..." she sighed, tucking his head against her collarbone. "You know none of us would ever _think_ of giving you up, don't you? Especially to a slaver." She ran her gloved fingers tenderly through his dark—apparently exotic—hair, and whispered the words into his ear. "I meant it. Every word."

She heard a sound like a soft sniffle from him, but the tension in his shoulders eased away. Hera smiled warmly, taking him by the shoulders so she could look him in the face.

"We'll just have to get the last few parts somewhere else," she told him.

"Yeah, maybe from someone who won't gouge us for all we've got," Ezra joked lightly, the hint of a grin returning to his face.

All business again, she let go, turning back to head for the landing pad.

"I want you to stay on the _Ghost_ when Sleemo delivers our parts," she ordered. "If I have to look at him salivating over you again I'm just going to deck him in the face, deal be damned."

"Suits me," Ezra said, shuddering. "I can help Sabine paint her room again."


	4. Sabine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is set early Season Two and you'll see a couple references to that regard.

They were being followed. She was _sure_ of it.

Ezra rambled on next to her, relaying a story about nicking three Stormtrooper helmets from a guard post station. Normally Sabine would have been all-ears; Ezra didn't open up all that often about his life on Lothal streets before the _Ghost_ so she savored every time he felt comfortable enough to do so.

But she'd been spotting that same silver-tipped helmet in the crowd behind them for eight blocks now and she couldn't shake the feeling that its owner was stalking them.

Kanan and Hera had warned her to be on the lookout for bounty hunters and Imperial spies. With how infamous they were getting to be around their sector of Outer Rim space, they were starting to get a lot more unsavory attention.

"What should I do if I run into one?" she'd asked.

"Improvise," Kanan had said.

"And then call one of us," Hera had added.

Right. So. How to lose their clingy friend.

Sabine tried to catch a glimpse of him without really turning around, peering out the corners of her eyes and squinting hard. His helmet looked Mandalorian. Okay, that was a problem. Mandos were belligerent and tricky enough to handle on their own _without_ being in service to someone else—or out for a quick payday. Doubly so for her thanks to her... _sensitive_ family matters. She didn't recognize the symbol painted on his forehead. It wasn't any family crest she knew. A bounty hunter guild perhaps?

Their stalker turned to duck behind one of the doorways and Sabine's keen eyes were able to pick out the details of the symbol better. A dot inside a radiating circle, the mark of the Black Sun crime syndicate.

_Son of a nerf-herder._

Could only be after her. Ketsu had mentioned there was a price on her head. Seems someone had decided to collect.

_Improvise, improvise..._ she repeated in her head. She had to draw him away from Ezra first. Not that she thought he'd get in the way—he'd been really improving with both blasters and his lightsaber—but he still wasn't quite skilled enough to handle this kind of opponent, and she didn't want to endanger him if she could help it.

Actually she could probably handle this guy herself and be back before Ezra realized she was gone. Now that she'd gotten a good look at him he didn't seem to be all that heavily armed. A couple side holsters with blasters, a knife in a dangling sheath, something she couldn't identify in a canister clipped to his waist, but that was about it. If he _was_ a bounty hunter he'd come woefully unprepared. Probably an amateur.

Still, she shouldn't underestimate him.

Sabine took a quick glance aside at Ezra. Okay good, he was still talking. He tended to zone out once he really got going so he shouldn't even notice her slipping away. Sabine took a slow, nervous breath in through her teeth, tensing her limbs and readying herself.

With one more furtive glance back at their mysterious follower, she made her move, stepping quickly off to the side and darting down an alleyway, away from the main street.

The blood thumped in her ears but she didn't turn around, walking briskly, her back straight. When she'd gone a couple blocks—just far enough away from the main street to not attract attention—she made a hard left around another corner, pulling out both blasters. Using a stack of crates and a drain pipe she quickly scaled up to the roof.

She found a perch and crouched down behind the edge. Peeking over the side, she waited with baited breath for the bounty hunter to appear.

The minute stretched out. Sabine fidgeted anxiously. Had she spooked him by peeling off? Alerted him to her awareness of his presence?

She stayed put, still waiting.

She couldn't have been wrong about him following them. He'd stayed within twenty feet of their wake for over an hour. He should have been seconds behind her.

Two more minutes passed, and still their stalker was nowhere to be seen.

_Maybe... I'm not his target?_ she thought. But that didn't make sense. A Mandalorian bounty hunter with ties to Black Sun? If he wasn't after her then who was he—?

A cold realization washed over her, gripping her heart, pooling in her stomach.

_Oh no._

Sabine scrambled up from her crouch, shimmying halfway back down the drainpipe before she just dropped heavily, lurched upright, and took off running. Fear clawed at the insides of her throat.

_I should never have left him I should never have left him,_ repeated as shrill alarm inside her head. She pumped her limbs, panting hard and praying Ezra hadn't gotten far.

-SWR-

"—almost managed to give him the slip—Sabine?" Ezra emerged from the middle of his tale to find that his audience had disappeared, and looked around in confusion. "Where'd she go?" he wondered.

He couldn't see her anywhere. How did she _do_ that?

Also where was he?

Ezra backtracked a few steps into a quiet backyard, trying to reorient himself. He tried to picture the layout of the city in his mind.

Distracted, the familiar urgent ping of the Force came to him a fraction too late.

Someone grabbed his shoulder and yanked him backwards. Ezra barely had time to yell in surprise before an armored arm was locked around his neck, and the cold steel end of a blaster was pressing threateningly against his right temple.

"Don't move, Jedi," a filtered male voice said.

Click-click.

_"Let him go,"_ came an icy female growl.

Ezra's fear abated a bit at the sound of her voice. Sabine's own would not quell yet, not as long as that bounty hunter had hold of him. She gripped her blasters so tight her knuckles could have cracked, holding them steady behind the unknown Mando's ear.

Very slowly, his fingers loosened up on his own weapon and his grip around Ezra slackened.

"Ooooookaaaaaay..." he drawled, sounding irritatingly amused instead of afraid. "Take it easy, Sabine."

_Oh you've gotta be kidding,_ Sabine thought incredulously. _Arimae?!_

She tried not to let her disgust show as she ordered, "Hands up and helmet off, Arimae. Don't even think I won't shoot you."

"Aw c'mon, is that any way to say hi after all these years?" he complained.

Sabine raised her pistols a fraction higher. "If you don't take your hands off Ezra _right now_ —" she warned, deadly serious.

"Okay, okay," Arimae said. He released Ezra, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Don't be so trigger-happy."

Sabine breathed a little easier once Ezra was free. But only a little. _Never underestimate your_ _opponent_ , Kanan always told her, and Arimae was still technically armed and could quick-draw at any moment. "Ezra, get behind me," she ordered.

Ezra didn't need to be told twice, scurrying behind Sabine even as he unhooked the lightsaber from his belt. "You know this creep?" he asked.

She narrowed her eyes at the bounty hunter, watching close for any sudden moves. "We had a couple classes together at the Imperial Academy but he flunked out long before I left," she summarized briefly. "Is this really what you've been up to? Seriously?" she asked Arimae in disbelief.

He hefted his helmet off in a casual manner, shrugging. "It pays the bills."

"And Black Sun just lets you embarrass them like that?"

A brief flash of anger appeared in his eyes, but it was gone before Sabine could worry about it.

"We've _gotta_ stop meeting your old friends like this," said Ezra, shaking his head.

_No kidding,_ thought Sabine.

"Gotta say, was real surprised when Ketsu quit after seeing you," Arimae commented, dropping his helmet before returning his hands to raised position.

Sabine's fingers twitched on the triggers, not taking her eyes off Arimae's blaster, still too nonchalantly held in loose right fingers.

"Stirred the head wigs up pretty bad," he continued. "They called a meeting with all us bigshots to discuss the 'Wren' problem."

_You? A bigshot? Ha!_ Sabine laughed. _If you were anything more than an amateur you wouldn't have forfeited your head protection like an idiot._

Aloud she said only, "Sounds fun. So if I'm such a thorn in their side how come you're not collecting, _Bigshot?_ " She didn't think Arimae was smart enough to have targeted Ezra just to draw her out.

Arimae shrugged again, with an irritatingly smarmy grin. "Payout for the baby Jedi's bigger," he said.

"Really?" Ezra asked, lighting up in curiosity. "How much am I worth?"

"Twenty-five thousand, give or take."

"Nice!"

_"Ezra!"_ Sabine sputtered. This was no time to be flippant!

"So what happens now, Sabine?" asked Arimae, tilting his head, and there was a hint of something dangerous in his voice.

Sabine's scowl deepened. " _We_ walk away," she emphasized. "And you don't follow, if you know what's good for you," she threatened.

"You don't _really_ expect me to just give up on a prize like that, do you?" Arimae challenged, hand closing around the hilt of his blaster, ready to snap it forward.

She didn't even flinch. "You know you can't outshoot me," she told him. "Don't even try it."

He finally leveled his blaster, shooting her a cocky grin. "Sorry Sabine," he said. "You've got something I want."

The next second the blaster was shot out of his hand with a very precise shot.

Arimae yelped, clutching his hand. He didn't get a chance to recover or reach for his other pistol. Sabine ducked forward and planted an elbow in his stomach.

He doubled over, winded, and Ezra finished him off with a stun blast from his saber. He crumpled to the ground and Sabine gave him one last kick for good measure, rolling him over towards the wall.

She kept her blasters trained on him a moment or two before she was satisfied that he was down. She shuddered and exhaled heavily, and put her guns away.

She took a moment or two to collect herself, clenching and unclenching her fists.

Then she turned and punched Ezra in the arm.

"Ow!" he protested. He rubbed at the spot. "What was that for?" he whined.

"Watch your surroundings next time!" Sabine snapped. "Do you know how scared I was when I saw he had hold of you?"

Ezra seemed to startle at that. "You were scared?" he said, tilting his head at her.

Sabine bit back her frustration. Always wanting to go off-topic. She couldn't understand how his brain worked sometimes. Of _course_ she'd been scared! "That's not the point. The point is, a greenback like Arimae never should have been able to get the drop on you!" she scolded.

He held up a finger. "In my defense, you were with me," he pointed out. "Or, well, you _were_ until you decided to go all disappearing act on me," he corrected after a moment.

Sabine was already simmering down, her worried anger quickly being replaced by relief that Ezra was okay. "Why's that your defense?" she asked.

His soft blue eyes met hers. "I feel safe with you," he said. His hand found its way to the back of his head. "Like, whatever happens, I know you've got my back." He shrugged. "I guess it's just easy to let my guard down."

Sabine was stunned. He'd said it with such genuine sentiment. Was that really how he felt? She knew how hard it was for him to trust people. _She_ still had trouble trusting. And yet...

_I feel safe with you._

The words disarmed her, made it feel somehow... more okay, she guessed, to be open with him. That was why she liked having him around. Ezra had a way of relaxing her, of helping her be more, well... _herself_. She guessed he felt the same way.

She let out a breath. "Tell you a secret?" she said quietly.

Ezra listened, all ears.

Sabine smiled. "Me too." Force, he was going to make her such a softie. She straightened, brushing dust off her shoulder pauldron. "So I guess we both have some learning to do when it comes to paying attention," she joked. She punched his shoulder again, gentler and more playfully this time. "Come on. Let's get back to the ship before 'Bigshot' back there wakes up," she said, jerking her head towards Arimae's pathetic form on the ground.

Ezra grinned cheekily as he swiveled to fall into step behind her. "Should we tell 'em how you totally ditched me and left me at the mercy of a ruthless bounty hunter?" he teased.

Sabine grimaced, already imagining the conversation. "Please don't," she begged. "Kanan would kill me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Yeah we ran into some trouble along the way. Just a bounty hunter. No big. What? No of **course** I was with Ezra the whole time. Didn't take my eyes off him, promise."_
> 
> Lol, that's about how I think I'd go down anyway.


	5. Kanan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is supposed to be set early Season Two, after "Always Two There Are", but before "Stealth Strike".

Their opponent was outnumbered, but Kanan and Ezra still struggled to hold him off.

Kanan fared well enough, blocking and countering with ease, but Ezra—still learning, still in-training—was awkward, clumsy, and had a hard time keeping up with the powerful blows of the red blade.

The male Inquisitor seemed to sense his lack of skill, and focused in on Ezra for more often than Kanan liked, forcing the older Jedi to expend twice the energy to cover for him and keep his padawan safe. When they got out of this fight, Kanan vowed, he would have to step up Ezra's saber training.

Especially if they were going to keep encountering these guys.

The Inquisitor's female companion was nowhere to be seen right now, but Kanan had a feeling she was skulking around somewhere close by. Since Ezra had first told him about them, they had never encountered the Inquisitors apart, always together.

Apparently they hunted in packs now.

Ezra blocked a heavy strike that had his saber glancing off the Inquisitor's like he was bouncing off a wall. He stumbled backwards, off balance, falling over his own feet.

The Inquisitor lunged, and Kanan quickly stepped in front of Ezra and barred the man's way with his blade.

The Inquisitor—What was it that they'd heard his female friend call him? Fifth Brother?—sneered as sparks flew off their locked sabers. "Your apprentice is weak, old man," he mocked. "Has he not been properly trained?"

Kanan's grip on the hilt tightened, along with his jaw. "Well, there's always room for improvement," he hissed, shoving forward and breaking the saber lock, pushing the Sith back.

He glanced back over his shoulder to check on Ezra. He was up, good, but his eyes were flashing with anger. He charged heedlessly back into the fray, but couldn't even get a blow in before he was already on the defensive again. Kanan saw the frustration and fear in his face.

He sidestepped a close-range jab. "Ezra, let go!" he called across to him. "Focus on the Force!"

Ezra met his eyes and nodded. He inhaled slowly.

Kanan could feel the Force realign around him. Ezra was attuned to it, attuned to him, relaxing and letting serenity flow through him. There was a marked improvement in his defense and the Fifth Brother scowled in dissatisfaction.

The older Jedi allowed himself a brief moment to be proud of his apprentice, before he returned to mentally kicking himself. Ezra did learn well in life-threatening situations, but he shouldn't _have_ to. He shouldn't have to need on-the-fly instruction when he was in serious danger of losing a limb.

But dwelling on his failures as a teacher would have to wait. With Ezra more focused, the tide turned in their favor, and they were able to force the Inquisitor back.

Not for long though. The Fifth Brother found an opening and stepped clear, drawing Force power to himself. Kanan saw the start of his motion, and the target of his aim, and started turning, reaching out a hand.

"Ez—"

Before he could finish calling out his warning, the Fifth Brother released, the wave of energy hitting his padawan.

Ezra was blown back as if from an explosion, flung into the wall behind them with a sickening _crunch!_

"Ezra!" Kanan cried, watching the boy crumple.

The next second he yelled and felt a searing pain in his back as the Fifth Brother took advantage of his distraction and slashed at him. Kanan whipped around, bringing his blade up, crashing it against the Inquisitor's.

The pain made focusing tricky. Kanan grit his teeth, pressing harder, driving his lightsaber against the Inquisitor's

Wordlessly, the Fifth Brother shoved him off, drawing back his fist before letting it fly. It connected solidly with Kanan's cheek, sending him reeling back. Kanan toppled, falling to the ground, stunned.

"Kanan!"

The cry had come from Ezra, who had recovered from being slammed against the wall. He was on his feet again, running up, lightsaber held high.

With the older Jedi down, the Fifth Brother could focus all his attention on Ezra. He summoned the Force, and a raised hand stopped the teenager in his tracks.

 _"Ack!"_ Ezra choked, feeling his feet leave the ground and a vice-like pressure close around his throat. His legs dangled and his lightsaber swung wildly as his free hand clutched at his neck—but there was nothing physical to grab.

The phantom pressure tightened and Ezra dropped his weapon, both hands grasping now, curling desperately.

Force Choke. He'd experienced it once before, from the Jedi temple's manifestation of the Grand Inquisitor back on Lothal, but this was infinitely worse. At least last time he could still breathe enough to gasp. The Pau'an's hold had been unpleasant, but casual, lazy, loose enough to let Ezra know he was being toyed with. There was no such hesitation in the Fifth Brother's grip. No slack. No breath. Just a crushing force around his trachea.

He couldn't get any air.

Ezra's struggling weakened, his body going numb from the lack of oxygen. He strained, open-mouthed, wide-eyed, beginning to see spots dance in his vision.

 _Kanan!_ he thought frantically at his master's downed form. _Help!_

-SWR-

Through the bond that he shared with his padawan, Kanan felt Ezra's distress, and it roused him, bringing him back to consciousness almost immediately.

He raised his head, hand on his temple, sat up at once and looked around for the source, with the urgent sense that _Ezra was in danger_ blaring an alarm through the Force inside his head.

Ice entered his veins when he saw. The Fifth Brother with his hand raised. Ezra held in the air, grabbing at his neck, turning blue.

He didn't think, just reacted, his body coiling, rolling upright. He barreled headlong into the Inquisitor, body-checking him from the side, bowling them both over.

Ezra dropped, gasping, intaking large gulps of precious air.

Kanan didn't let up, pommeling the Inquisitor and getting in several solid hits before he was thrown off. Kanan just ignited his lightsaber, attacking while the man was still off-balance. The Fifth Brother found himself being driven back and, as Kanan pressed his onslaught, forgot to watch his footing.

The Jedi summoned his own Force Push, blowing the Fifth Brother to the very edge of the ledge, overbalancing him _just_ enough.

The Inquisitor's arm's windmilled as he tried to stay upright, before falling neatly off the ledge with a yell, crashing onto something on the lower street below.

Kanan didn't stay to watch where he landed, already rushing back to Ezra. The boy rubbed his throat, his face pinched, reaching to pick up his lightsaber. "Are you okay?" Kanan asked him, one hand landing on Ezra's shoulder, the other gently touching the bruises appearing on his neck.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Ezra strained hoarsely. "Or at least... better now that I can breathe again."

Relieved, the older Jedi let the tension out of his body. He kept his guard up, though. The Fifth Brother wouldn't stay down for long and he was still wondering when the female Inquisitor would make her—

"Well hello there, pretty padawan."

Ah. There she was.

Kanan hadn't seen all that much of her during their brief encounters, hadn't yet gotten close to her, but from her opening line and the terrified way Ezra's eyes widened—and what Ezra had told him about her from his first encounter—he'd already decided he didn't like her.

"Time to go," he declared.

He threw his hand out, pushing the female Inquisitor back down the alleyway she'd emerged from before she could get any closer. She squawked indignantly as she disappeared from immediate sight.

Kanan was already moving Ezra away from the battlefield. The teen stumbled at first, but quickly found his footing, and soon Master and Apprentice were both sprinting along the upper street.

The older Jedi pulled out his comlink. "Spectre 3, come in! We need a pickup!"

Chopper's familiar warble came in over the line, questioning.

"No time to explain! Just have the _Phantom_ ready, Chopper!" Kanan ordered.

"Kanan?" Ezra said between breathless pants as he ran alongside him. He shook his head. "That was _awful_. I never—" he emphasized, rubbing his neck softly, "—wanna get squeezed like that again."

 _Kid, if only you knew..._ Kanan thought, shuddering at the all-too-recent memory of Ezra choking, clawing for air, dying in front of him. If he'd been just a few moments too late...

He shook the thought from his head. Ezra was okay. He was safe.

Or at least he _would_ be once Chopper got there with the _Phantom_.

"Don't worry," he told the the boy. "If I have anything to say about it, you won't," he promised.

That was a Master's job after all, to look out for their padawan. Kanan was awkward at a lot of things when it came to teaching Ezra, but that part had always come naturally to him.

Hopefully with practice everything else would follow.

Cold eddies in the Force from behind them signaled their pursuit but it was too late, the _Phantom_ was roaring triumphantly above their heads, coming in to hover in front of them. Kanan pushed Ezra through the open door first, Chopper's incessant beeping quieting as the droid sealed it behind them and took the small craft rocketing away.


	6. Chopper

Organic unit Ezra Bridger was injured.

Chopper's sensors could pick up the unit's level of stress and discomfort, heightened from the acceptable baseline, and as he rolled up, wheels scratching across the icy graveled ground, his optics quickly spotted and processed the large chunk of rock lying across Ezra's lower right leg strut. The limb was crushed and would need repair. Ezra's breathing process also seemed shallow and labored. He was in a reclined position against the ice wall of the cavern, and alerted to Chopper's presence.

"Chop? Chopper is that you?" he asked.

The droid questioned sarcastically who else it would be.

Ezra gave an exhale of relief. "What are you doing here?"

Chopper flatly informed him that he hadn't checked in in two hours.

"Guess people were starting to get worried," Ezra surmised with a grimace.

_"WUB WUB-WUB, WUUUB WUB WUB?"_ Chopper demanded.

"What was I doing here?" Ezra sighed. "Training. Or trying to."

_"WUB?!"_ Chopper exclaimed, incredulous.

"Yeah, alone," Ezra snapped. "It was stupid. I know."

The boy's irritation dissipated and he shot Chopper a pleading look.

"Don't tell Kanan."

_"WWRR,"_ Chopper said, expressing doubt at being able to keep the young organic unit's dealings a secret, especially from organic unit Kanan Jarrus.

Sliding up, the droid poked the fallen boulder experimentally. When no movement was detected, he took a pinch with both manipulators.

_"WUB WEB,"_ he told Ezra.

"Not a problem," Ezra replied, screwing up his face and bracing himself.

Chopper's motors whirred and grinded as he carefully pushed the boulder off of Ezra's leg strut. It rolled off, falling with a thump to the ground.

Ezra doubled over, ashen, stress levels spiking in Chopper's sensor readouts. The droid leaned over to scan and examine the damage, and then helpfully informed him that the leg strut was broken.

"I hadn't noticed," the boy said through his teeth.

The spike in his vitals subsided as he slumped back against the wall.

Chopper gave a worried hum. Moving the organic unit in this state was inadvisable and could cause permanent damage, he told the boy. And with the outside temperature dropping rapidly he couldn't stay put either.

Chopper determined he would need to call for assistance. Preferably from the organic unit Hera Syndulla, subdesignation "Mom".

Ezra seemed to come to the same calculation and sighed heavily.

"Okay," he said. "Go ahead."

So much for his plan not to tell Kanan.

The C1 unit extended his comm antenna and rotated it around to get the best signal.

_I found him_ , he said over the channel as soon as it was open.

Hera piped in at once. _"Oh thank goodness. Where are you?"_

_"WUB WUB WUB-WUB WUB,"_ Chopper reported.

_"What are you doing all the way out there?"_ came Kanan's voice.

Ezra sighed again before speaking up to explain. "I was testing out some new Force moves. Thought it'd be better to do it away from the ship."

_"What happened?"_ asked Kanan, sounding not in the least bit judgmental or disappointed, just concerned.

"Pushed too hard. Dislodged a bunch of boulders from the ceiling. Caught one with my leg."

_"We'll be right there,"_ promised Hera. _"Chop? Stay with him. We'll trace your signal."_

_"WUB WUB!"_ Chopper acknowledged.

As soon as Hera disconnected, however, Chopper let loose a private grumble about the situation. These kinds of incidents seemed to happen with alarming frequency for the young organic unit. With the unit's small and poorly maintained frame and his clearly damaged judgement matrix he was statistically twice as likely as the rest of them to incur injury or break down.

He supposed it was no surprise given the unit's many years without a proper mechanic.

"You know I can hear you."

Chopper realized he must've been audible enough for the organic unit to have deciphered his grumbling and immediately feigned ignorance. The expression on Ezra Bridger's face read as skeptical.

Changing the subject, the droid asked if the organic unit had sustained any other damage.

"No," he said. "Just my leg I think. Hey, how long do you think it's gonna take Hera and Kanan to get here?" he asked, a sudden undercurrent of worry in his tone.

The droid calculated out the time and reported it. Ezra's tensions seemed to ease and he leaned back against the wall.

"Okay," he said. "It shouldn't get too cold before then."

As if he'd suddenly become aware of the chill just by saying the words, the boy gave a shiver.

"Uh... I don't suppose you know how to start a fire?" Ezra asked hopefully.

Chopper made a withering groan, rejecting the request as outside of his programming. He swiveled on one wheel sharply, turning away from the organic unit in disgust.

"I guess not," Ezra sighed.

-SWR-

Chopper kept an internal timer counting down when organic units Hera and Kanan were estimated to arrive. So far, thirty minutes had expired. His calculations estimated it would take the units another forty-five. Possibly an hour, if he factored in delay probabilities.

He continued to run calculations, idly making his usual self-assessments and scans, staring at the wall in boredom.

His diagnostics picked up something. Chopper started out of his idle state, swiveling his head around to look at Ezra, whose internal temperature, he'd just noticed, had just passed a troubling threshold.

The organic unit had both upper struts around his body and was vibrating unsteadily in a shivering process.

Concerned, Chopper turned and rolled towards him.

_"WUB WUB?"_ he queried.

Ezra smiled bravely, but it was strained. "I'm fine," he said. "Just a little cold."

More than a little, the droid commented, noting both the temperature in the cave and Ezra's own biometric heat. Chopper rolled even closer, bringing his internal heaters online, radiating energy from his core out into his barrel torso. That should stabilize the boy's temperature fluctuation, for a while at least, though the colder it got outside the less effective it would be.

Ezra sensed the heat coming from the droid and unexpectedly threw both upper struts around him.

_"WEET!"_ Chopper protested, unused to such a gesture from this particular organic unit.

"Sorry," Ezra mumbled into Chopper chassis. "Just feels... really good..."

The unit's central processing was beginning to slow, Chopper noted. That was not a good sign. The C1 unit checked his timer anxiously.

What little light there was began to dim. The temperature continued to drop. Chopper's own joints began to stiffen up and crust with ice and he checked his timer and Ezra's readings obsessively every few second cycles.

A sudden dip in the pattern of Ezra's breathing alarmed him. Chopper craned his head to see the organic unit was beginning to slump, his head lolling, eyes closed.

The astromech popped out his electric prod and gave the boy a small jab.

Ezra shot back up with a yelp, arms falling off the droid, confusedly taking in Chopper's angry binary berating.

" _WUB WUB WUB WUB! WUUUB WUB WUB WUB!_ "

"Don't fall asleep, I got it," Ezra acknowledged, rubbing his chest where Chopper had shocked him. "Did you have to use the taser?" he complained.

Chopper didn't dignify that with a response, head swiveling towards the far passageway. Sensors had picked up something. Lifeforms, approaching them. He let Ezra know.

"Hera and Kanan?"

No, Chopper beeped. Too small. And too quick. Chopper tried to cross-reference his readings with his database of known Lothal wildlife.

A short, barking bray echoed from somewhere in the caverns. It was answered by two more, a little louder and closer. Chopper buzzed nervously.

_"WUB WUB?"_ he asked Ezra.

Ezra crinkled his eyes, thinking. "Sounds like... Lotherrals?"

The C1 droid found his database entry on them, noting the canine fangs and sharp claws, reading the summary of the small predators' diet. Loth-rats, webmoles, large tuber worms. Still, he backed up on his wheels, subtly placing himself between the boy and the nearest tunnel entrance.

"Storm must've driven them in," Ezra mused, not noticing. "We'll be fine, Chopper. They won't attack."

A low growl sounded, rumbling and worryingly close.

Ezra gulped. "Unless they're hungry."

He and Chopper both nervously watched the dark hole that was the cavern's entrance. The growls came closer, increasing in volume. Chopper's bio sensors knew exactly where they were but his optics didn't pick them up until they were right at the tunnel's mouth.

Slitted eyes blinked out from the darkness, glowing eerily yellow. Two, no, three of the Lotherrals were creeping out, ears flat on their heads, short fur-tuffed bodies low to the ground. There was barely a sound from under their padded feet. They eyed the boy and the droid in a manner Chopper found distinctly uncomfortable, lips curled back over rat-like, beady sharp teeth.

The closest Lotherral hissed and snapped. Behind him, Ezra flinched. Chopper's electric prod snapped out again, sparking warningly.

_"WUB WAB!"_ he ordered the creature.

A second Lotherral starting moving closer, creeping around the edge of the cavern. Chopper's head jerked around and he brandished his prod, beeping threateningly.

He was already making threat analyses and risk assessments and calculating the voltage he would need to stun the creature when he felt Ezra shift.

"Hang on Chop, I wanna try something," Ezra said.

Chopper protested as the organic unit moved position—he would cause more damage to his leg strut—but Ezra ignored him and raised his hand, eyes closing in concentration.

An array of confusing data made a familiar pattern in Chopper's sensory analysis. Ezra's adrenal levels calmed and his breathing rate steadied. Chopper recognized the status change from previous recordings of organic unit Kanan Jarrus. Ezra was attempting to initiate the Force process, subdesignation "Weird Jedi Mojo".

The droid buzzed uncertainly, his electric prod still crackling, aimed at the closest creeping Lotherral.

He hated when the organic units did this.

He backed up towards Ezra even as the three creatures's growls started to subside.

-SWR-

Sensors picked them up first.

Organic units Hera and Kanan rounded the corner, following the steady ping of Chopper's homing beacon. As Hera spotted the droid's bleached orange dome, standing out even amidst the dimness of the icy cavern, she lowered her signal tracker and tucked it under her arm with an amused look.

"Well this is different," she said.

Chopper whined in agitation from the center of the pile he made with Ezra and the three Lotherrals, curled up around the boy and the droid like affectionate housepets. The creatures glanced up at the approach of the two sentients and casually got up and moved off, shaking snow out of their fur.

"Nice work," Kanan complimented. Pride gleamed in his eyes as he reached down for Ezra's arm.

Ezra beamed. "Thanks. Figured I'd try not to get eaten before you guys got here."

Chopper groaned in disgust, shaking his dome at the two. He rolled himself towards Hera, loudly complaining. There was fur stuck in his joints from where the Lotherrals had cuddled up to him. He was in desperate need of an oil bath and a long recharge at the power station.

But he couldn't help but feel a measure of satisfaction at the sight of Kanan gingerly easing the younger organic unit to his feet, keeping the weight off his damaged leg strut. Ezra had sustained no further malfunctions, the added heat of the Lotherral's bodies helping to stabilize his biometrics. The crew would have the unit back to working functionality soon, now that they'd retrieved him.

He still grumbled under his breath as he wheeled himself past Hera.

"Yes, Chopper, you did great too," she told him fondly. "We're all happy you were here."

_You'd better be_ , he groused, leading the way out of the caverns and back to the _Ghost._


	7. Safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a follow-up to a certain earlier chapter, as requested by the reviewers on FFnet. I had actually always planned to finish the fic this way so it all worked out rather nicely. This one is also set early Season Two-ish.

This planet was still too uncomfortably hot. Ezra was looking forward to the cool filtered air of the _Ghost_ , and perhaps a shower too, as he made his way back to the landing pad.

He slipped in and out of side streets, avoiding the occasional patrol. They weren't too infamous on this side of the sector yet, but Ezra didn't want to take any chances.

At the same time, though, he didn't want to stray too far from the main street. He remembered the last time he'd been in this spaceport...

Ezra slipped into the shade behind a couple buildings. The chatter of the crowd dimmed a little. He wiped his forehead with a sigh.

It wasn't too much farther. He should be able to—

This time, his guard was up. The Force blazed out a white-hot warning in his mind. Reacting instinctively Ezra lurched forward as if to break into a sprint, and the blow that should have smashed into his head missed and cracked across his back instead.

Ezra still went down, pain exploding in his body, winded and stunned and unable even to gasp. His cheek hit the dirt. His ears rang. Somewhere above him he heard voices barking to each other. His palms pressed weakly to the ground, trying to lift himself up. A moment later he felt his elbows seized, felt hands dragging him up by his arms.

His breath strained back to him, raggedly, and he found his voice.

"L-Let go!" he cried. He jerked in the tight hold the hands had on him. There were at least two of them, wrestling him backwards, pulling him away from the street. Ezra struggled to get free. "Lemme go!" he shouted again, louder this time. "Get—"

He was yanked backwards. A calloused palm with long, spindly fingers clamped over his mouth, cutting him off, and a thin arm wrapped around his neck.

 _"_ — _Rrrmgh!"_ Ezra yelled, scratching at the arm with his hands, grabbing at it. His frantic eyes darted around, trying to take in his attackers.

"Scrivs and starships, Falkin!" one of them complained. Human. Drawling Mid-Rim accent. "Ya were supposed ter knock 'im out!"

"I tried!" the one he'd spoken to protested. "He moved funny! Like he felt it coming!" He was in front of Ezra, a long wooden rod in hand, swinging with his agitated gestures.

"Never mind that now!" hissed the voice behind his ear, and Ezra felt a jolt of ice shoot through his veins as he recognized the slimy cadence, the greasy way the words twisted around each other. Dun Raggar shifted his grip around Ezra, gesturing with an open palm impatiently. "Give me the binders," he ordered.

Falkin produced them and Ezra's struggling increased, desperately. He grabbed Dun Raggar's wrist, trying to yank the hand away from his mouth.

"Hold _still_ you little—" the slaver growled, tightening his hold. The other two closed in, Falkin reaching out for Ezra, snagging his right wrist, pulling his arm straight.

Panic spiked through him as the metal cuff snapped around his wrist. Ezra found a hidden surge of strength and wrenched Dun Raggar's hand off his mouth, jerking around to immediately bite down. Hard.

The slaver howled in fury and pain as Ezra's teeth sank in. His grip slipped.

Ezra let go and drove his elbow into the man's gut. Dun Raggar doubled over, giving Ezra just enough space to slip free.

He pushed forward, shoving into Falkin and knocking the man to the ground as he stumbled into the clear. Angry grunting from behind told him Dun Raggar's favorite Aqualish lackeys were also part of the group, but he didn't look back to confirm it.

He just ran.

Ezra could hear them on his tail as he bolted down the alleyways and side streets. He zigzagged, skidding around corners, weaving in and out even as he kept a mental map of the spaceport in his mind's eye, beelining straight for one landing pad in particular.

There was safety in numbers and right now he was outnumbered. He knew he could make it. He just had to keep far enough ahead of them.

Blaster shots rang out behind him. Pain ripped into his left arm as a bolt nicked him, tearing through his sleeve. Ezra yelped, clutching the wound with his other hand and stumbling only a moment before recovering.

His lungs burned. His legs and arms ached. He swerved into the street, not caring who saw him now, not when he was so _close_.

His pursuers gained on him.

-SWR-

The _Ghost_ sat with her ramp down, surrounded by cargo crates and fuel canisters that the crew was busy loading up. The sun glared off the metal surfaces, and the work was sweaty and uncomfortable.

Kanan finished pushing a hoverlift into place, frowning, a distracted look on his face.

"Hey Zeb," he asked, as the Lasat began hefting a crate onto the lift, "you seen Ezra recently?"

Zeb froze a split second, then finished putting the crate down. "Er... not _that_ recently," he said, looking off to the side evasively. He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. "Why? Something wrong?"

Kanan's brows wrinkled, his worried eyes meeting Zeb's. "I don't know..." he said. "Something feels off in the Force. I think Ezra's—"

"Heads up!"

As if summoned by Kanan's concern, they heard Ezra's voice ring out. Kanan looked up and was almost bowled over by the sheer force of his padawan's urgency, the emotion slamming him through the Force.

Hera glanced up from her datapad, seeing him running for them. "Ezra?" she called in confusion.

He didn't reply, just barreled straight past her heading for the landing ramp. In seconds she took in the fear in his eyes, the bleeding gash on his arm, the cuffs dangling off one of his wrists. She watched him pass, her head whipping back around and spotting his pursuers.

Fury snapped on instinctively inside her and as Dun Raggar stretched a long, spindly arm out after Ezra she lunged and decked him square in the face.

"Ungh!"

He went down like a wet sandbag. His lackeys slowed to a stop, two of them coming forward and pulling at their boss's arms. Hera stepped back, hearing Kanan and Sabine yank out their blasters. Zeb growled as he unstrapped his bo rifle.

Ezra stopped halfway up the ramp, panting breathlessly and turning to watch things unfold. The Spectres closed ranks around the bottom instinctively, squaring off against the slavers and pointing their guns. Hera was livid, spitting her words at Dun Raggar.

"What in _hell_ are you doing to my kid, you slimeball?!" she demanded.

"Taking what I'm owed!" the man burst out. His eyes flashed with fury as he was tilted upright by his men. "This—" He jabbed a finger towards Ezra and spat the word in disgust. "— _child,_ was slinking around my wares this morning. Him and his hairy friend," he said, glancing briefly at Zeb. "He unlocked every single padlock while my back was turned and released all the prisoners!"

"You can't prove I did that!" Ezra protested indignantly.

 _"I know it was you!"_ Dun Raggar screeched. His arms flailed about, stabbing the air, rubbing down his face as he moaned. "Gone! All gone! Every single one escaped! All my profits lost! Because of _him!_ " he snarled furiously, murder in his cloudy eyes.

Kanan's eyes flicked up towards his padawan, curiously probing. The boy's face betrayed nothing. He glared defiantly at his would-be-kidnapper, squeezing his injured arm tightly.

The Jedi gripped his blaster a little more firmly, his other hand straying towards his lightsaber. Just in case.

"By all rights I am owed compensation for this outrage and I _demand_ repayment!" Dun Raggar was shouting, ranting in Hera's face. "His life and freedom are forfeit!" he cried. "You _owe_ me, captain!" He pointed sharply at Ezra, livid. " _That boy_ belongs to me!"

"Come try and take 'im then," Zeb growled.

As if suddenly noticing the others, the slaver's anger cooled. His eyes darted nervously from blaster to blaster. "You can't keep him from me," he said. "I told you, he's rightfully mine."

Sabine stepped forward, posture intimidating. "You want Ezra, you go through all of us first," she challenged, fingers tight on the triggers, just itching for the man to give her an excuse to shoot him.

Dun Raggar scoffed. "Don't be absurd. You can't _fight_ us."

A loud metal clanking suddenly sounded. The slavers startled and took several steps back as the front turret of the ship suddenly came to life, rising and taking aim. Ezra glanced up with a small gasp, spotting the orange dome of Chopper through the glass bubble, manning the nose gun.

Zeb flourished his bo rifle smugly, and Kanan's hand dropped away from his lightsaber hilt.

Dun Raggar's lackeys shifted anxiously. "Uh... boss?" called Falkin.

"Quiet!" he barked. He visibly gulped, licking his dry lips. His whole demeanor shifted, sliding neatly into the casual, pleasant, salesman persona. He held up placating hands. "Now... I'm sure we can come to _some_ kind of agreement..." he reasoned. "Surely there's an arrangement you would find..." He glanced up at Ezra. "...favorable..."

Hera crossed her arms sternly. Her expression was pure ice.

"You need to leave," she told him. "Now."

The pleasantries vanished. "But my payme—" Dun Raggar began to whine.

"I'm not paying you one thin credit!" Hera interrupted angrily, jabbing a gloved finger in his face. "Much _less_ giving you Ezra! You can't prove he's responsible for setting your slaves free, and you lost whatever slim shot you had at bargaining with me when you tried to abduct him!" She settled back, putting her hands on her hips. "I told _you_ , he's family. So unless you'd like a lesson in humility served up to you—" She crossed her arms again. "—I suggest you scram and crawl back into the mudhole you came from." Her eyes narrowed with hatred. "Sleezebag," she hissed.

The slaver's face faltered a moment. He turned to appeal to Kanan, eyes desperate. "Surely you can speak on the matter?"

Kanan was like a stone. "You heard her," he said firmly. "He stays."

Dun Raggar hissed softly through his teeth, eyes burning resentfully.

He paid one last malicious look at Ezra, surrounded on all sides by his family, before spitting out a bitter, "Fine."

He motioned with his head and his lackeys fell into step behind him.

The Spectres watched them go, glaring at their backs until they were out of sight.

Tension sapped out of the air as soon as they were gone, Kanan turning and immediately ascending the ramp to attend to Ezra.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, concern in his eyes as he walked up.

Ezra shook his head. "Just my arm," he said, holding it out for Kanan to see. "They cracked me from behind too but I was only winded a moment."

"Good..." Kanan said absently, turning Ezra's arm over to look at the wound. It was only a graze, wasn't even bleeding anymore. A disinfecting rub and a bandage and he'd be just fine. Kanan stepped back and crossed his arms with a stern look. "Then maybe you can explain what the galaxies the man was talking about."

Ezra shrugged. "It was Zeb's idea."

"It was not!" Zeb protested. "You were the one who said you couldn't just leave 'em there to be sold off like heads of nerf!"

"So you _did_ set the slaves free," Hera concluded, sounding and looking oddly proud as she came to stand by the bottom of the ramp. "Huh. I thought he was just making that up for an excuse to take you."

"I didn't know they were his," Ezra confessed, face twinging. "But yeah. Zeb and I were out in the market earlier and we saw the padlocks and we couldn't just do nothing," he explained, as Kanan fiddled with the cuff still locked around his wrist. "So Zeb distracted the buyers and I picked the locks. We didn't see Dun Raggar at all until they were all out and scattering and he was screaming for a patrol to come collect them."

"Was wondering why the Stormtroopers seemed extra annoyed today," Sabine groaned, smearing a hand over her face. "Ezra, I'm glad they all escaped but was antagonizing a known slaver who already had a creepy interest in you _really_ the best idea?"

He grinned. "I like to live dangerously, what can I say?"

The cuff fell off as Kanan found the latch, and Ezra rubbed his wrist gingerly. His head ducked in shame.

"Um... sorry about leading them here," he mumbled. "They were right on my tail and I didn't know where else to go."

Kanan put his hands on Ezra's shoulders, smiling warmly. "Coming back to the _Ghost_ was exactly the right move," he told the boy. "We would have dropped everything and ran straight to you, if we'd known." A little more sternly, he continued, "As for freeing the slaves—"

"I'd do it again in a heartbeat," Ezra promised with conviction, fists tightening.

Kanan's eyes softened fondly. "That was reckless, _and_ dangerous, not to mention could have put us all at risk." His hands squeezed Ezra's shoulders. "But I'm proud of you, kid. You did a good thing."

Ezra beamed, warmth filling up his chest.

"Hey, I helped!" Zeb whined.

" _You_ were supposed to be keeping him out of trouble," Hera reminded the Lasat, pushing a hoverlift up beside him.

Sheepish, Zeb grabbed the handlebars. "Well ya gotta admit, he can be pretty persuasive."

 _"WUB WEB WUB,"_ Chopper agreed, appearing at the top of the ramp with a casual roll.

Her lekku swished as she shook her head long-sufferingly. "All right, pack it up. Let's get loaded and airborne, we're washing our feet of this planet for good before Dun Raggar decides to take things up with the local garrison."

"Sounds good to me," agreed Sabine brightly, pressing the repulsorlift button on a fuel canister.

Kanan wrapped an arm around Ezra's shoulders, turning him towards the open cargo bay.

"C'mon, let's get that arm cleaned up," he said.

Ezra's heartrate was finally calm, the alarm bells of danger fading into the safe feeling of coming home as he followed Kanan up the ramp. He gave Chopper a pat as he passed, to which the ornery droid protested with an offended string of beeps.

"Kanan?" he said. There was so much he wanted to say that he couldn't articulate, so he settled on just a simple, "Thanks."

Kanan pulled him tighter to his armpit.

"Anytime, kid," he told Ezra. "Anytime."


End file.
